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Cornerstone exists because of Jesus. We are a people who have been transformed by the gospel, the good news of Jesus Christ. Through Jesus’ death and resurrection, God has forgiven us and adopted us into his family. Now, we have a whole new life.

Through the gospel, God redeems us, forgives us, and adopts us into his family. The good news of Jesus’ death and resurrection makes each one of us a new creation and gives us a new identity: children of God. This is why we can never think of the church as an organization or a building. The church is actually a family—God’s family, filled with redeemed sinners that are now his children.

Through the gospel, God forgives us, adopts us into his family, and makes us his disciples. This means that the church is not just any family. We are a family formed by God—and sent out with a purpose.

The church is a family that ministers to one another, cares for one another, and builds one another up. Each member of the family is a child of God who is uniquely gifted to bless the family and to be a light in our city.

Echoes of David

“But somewhere in the muddle of adulthood
I have lost both the joy and pain of a child,
and David haunts me as I confront my own anemic heart.”

For years I have been summoned from sleep mid-dream
to tend to imaginary monsters and soaked sheets,
to stroke sweaty heads and whisper soft prayers for sweet slumber
before crawling back to bed myself.
I have held a weeping toddler after a stubbed toe
and a heartbroken schoolgirl after a friend’s betrayal.
I know what it is to soothe,
to tend to one longing for comfort and seeking rest.
In David’s psalms I hear a child,
reaching out with words instead of sticky palms,
consumed by fear and drowning in doubt.
His words are messy and ragged, bubbling over like volcanic ash,
emotions fierce as flint, brutal as a gut punch,
harrowing as a tightrope walk over a bottomless canyon,
and I recognize the ache.

In summer my daughters’ squeals proliferate,
delighting in the fiery tendrils of a sparkler,
or rejoicing over a perfect dandelion,
discovered and released in downy wishes cast into the breeze.
My son explodes with excitement at the same stanza of a favorite song, every time.
And I hear echoes of David again, this time rejoicing,
blossoming with praise,
reverberating with joy like hummingbird wings.
Celebrating every good thing over and over, his peace is resounding,
billowing above the storm of life like a parachute of clouds.
In the deep he knows safety; in the gulch, contentment.

But somewhere in the muddle of adulthood
I have lost both the joy and pain of a child,
and David haunts me as I confront my own anemic heart.
The psalms I weave are too often grown-up nonsense, air kisses and pleasantries,
the checking off of a list, a duty performed.
I am eviscerated by my own shallow devotion,
an intimacy of convenience and routine, neat and tidy.
And so I pray, make me a child again, help me recapture a heart like David.
Lord, find the creases in my soul and fill them,
seek me where I hide and strip away my false maturity and my excuses.
Unfold me and enfold me,
tender and ferocious as a mother calming a newborn soul.
Help me to call upon You full-throated, in joy and pain,
to claim the beautiful inheritance and delight in every blessing.

Nicole Austin

Nicole is a member of Cornerstone and serves as a Community Group leader.